On the night before BlogHer, Sophia and I filled out the paperwork. There were four forms to complete. It was more complicated than I thought, forgetting for a moment that filing for divorce is a serious legal matter and not an episode of “The Marriage Ref.” The moment was friendly, but tense, not unlike the times we attempted to complete the NY Times Sunday crossword puzzle together.
Filing for divorce. We peeked into my blog archives and discovered that we have been “separated” for six years, coming back and leaving each other more times than Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor. It was time.
We enjoyed a quick nice laugh when we came across the options you could choose as the reason for the divorce –
A) Irreconsolible differences.
B) Reasons of insanity.
Yes, I want a divorce because my SPOUSE IS CRAZY!
The next day, I put my luggage in the car, ready to go to San Diego. But before I left LA, I drove to the courthouse. I stood in a long line outside the court, hanging with my peers, the gang members and rapists of the City of Los Angeles. Apparently, getting a divorce puts you in the same line as an armed robber. I got patted down by a burly police officer after going through the metal detective, proving that ending a marriage requires a symbolic ceremony as traditional as breaking the glass under the chuppah in the beginning.
The clerk at civil court clerk’s office was an androgynous woman with short blonde hair in the style of Annie Lenox, circa 1985. Filing for divorce is as glamorous as going to CVS pharmacy to pick up some Q-tips. I handed the clerk the forms and paid my $390.
The only setback was that I couldn’t hand in Sophia’s papers on the same day as I did mine. She had to be “served” by a third party, much as they do on “Law and Order.” Oh yeah, and another $390. You would think with such a high divorce rate in California, the state wouldn’t be bankrupt.
I left the court feeling good. The process was only half completed, so the full impact of the action hadn’t yet hit. Why worry? I wasn’t officially filed yet. Or divorced. If a meteor slammed into earth that day, I would die a married man.
I enjoyed BlogHer, only mentioning the filing for divorce with a few close friends. It didn’t seem appropriate to make a public announcement during the Keynote Speech.
When I returned from San Diego, we asked a friend to “serve” Sophia, so the process would all be official. It was felt rather silly, as if we were playing Charades. So “legal.” The legal divorce was less a concern than the emotional fallout. We had gone through a lot during our marriage — happiness, sex, laughter, anger, stress, illness, and the death of three of our parents. Clearly there was a bond. We gave it a good shot — six years after the initial separation — but we had changed over the years. We didn’t fit together anymore. We had become brother and sister, not husband and wife. And that is no way to live your life.
On Monday morning, we had breakfast. Sophia asked me to go to recycling center on the way back from the court, proving that a husband’s chores never end, even to the final moment. There was a huge collection of soda and beer bottles sitting in the garage. My first instinct was to ask her why she didn’t do this herself, but I shut myself up. Why go there? It was the petty little snips that had done the most harm over the years.
“Sure,” I said to my wife, the person I shared so much with for so many years. “I’ll bring in the recycling stuff after I go to the court.”
I returned to court, waiting in line with a new set of gang-bangers. The androgynous court clerk was absent, which made me sad. I was hoping for the comfort of repetition.
The new clerk was a smiling black woman in a bright red dress. She smiled as she took Sophia’s response form and charged me another $390 dollars.
She stamped the form, and it was done. I hoped for an uplifting good-bye, something like, “That’s it! Have a great rest of your life filled with love and happiness.”
But no.
“Next!” she announced.
I went to the car. I was feeling pretty good, even relieved. I could now go on with the rest my life. Even date other women!
It was time.
And then I threw up on the parking lot floor.
After that, I drove over to deliver the cans and bottles to the recycling center.
i like that you went to the recycling center, and that you did without complaint. i’d like to think that kind of civility would be the mark of every split. and clearly, some very good karma is coming your way.
To sad endings and new beginnings. You and Sophia’s story has been a huge part of my blogging life. I wish beautiful things for you both.
Neil, I want you to have a great rest of your life filled with love and happiness.
Change is hard, even when it’s positive. Here’s to new beginnings.
I read this the other day and wasn’t sure what to say, because I can’t say “me too.”
I can say that I think you’re fantastic and I hope you have nothing but love and good things in your life.
xo
This hit me where I live. Sorry it had to be that way, but change is the only way forward, as mundane as that sounds.
Peace to you, my friend.
Best of luck, love and comfort to both of you.
As hard as it is, it will allow you to move forward in your life. Sounds like you will continue to be friends, which is a wonderful thing.
Best wishes to the both of you. I know exactly how this all feels and the idea of a relationships changing from that of a spouse to one more akin to siblings is…familiar. SO VERY.
Linsey posted UPDATE
This stuff is very interesting to me.
Not the divorce itself, per se, and I’m not trivializing your experience. But the throwing up part. The physical reaction to stress part. Mentally you felt fine, relaxed, relieved. But physically? Not so much.
It’s pretty crazy stuff.
Luda posted Olivia Wilde’s Oscar-winning turn in Cowboys and Aliens.
I think a ‘good’ divorce is one that’s mundane. I wish mine were more mundane. I remember my final hearing as well. My ears were ringing because all of the blood was rushing to my head. I didn’t hear a word the judge said to me. I just nodded and coughed *yes*.
Best of luck to you, sir.
Memoirs of a Single Dad posted Man-Made Reviews: Craftsman 22″ Self-Propelled Mower
Hell, I’m away from blogging for 3 years and I find about this now. I should go back to ignoring blogs again.
Sorry to hear about this but glad you’ve got some closure.
tim
L.A. Daddy posted Guitar Hero
My dad divorced 3 times, but never once in a civil manner. This post was rather refreshing. Good to know it all doesn’t have to end up in an emotional mess and that the remaining unpleasantries can be left in a car park. Welcome to singledom
Ooof. So sorry.
Glad to have met you–hopefully next time you’ll be having an [even] better time than your emotional state afforded this year.
Al_Pal posted BlogHer planning!
How very civilized your divorce was! Now you need to relearn how to be you as a whole rather than as half of a couple. It takes times so don’t be too hard on yourself. Thinking and feeling all that you are thinking and feeling is normal. One day though, you’ll look back and feel completely detached from that part of your life, as if it had happened to someone else. Be well and be happy. x
Hannah Joy posted Wings!
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Hi – I just stumbled upon your blog and it feels a bit strange leaving a comment on such a personal post but I’m going to do it anyway because I just found it so compelling and I was really moved. So “thanks” – if that’s the right word!
Ella
Ella Slayne posted ‘Fessing up and learning from my mistakes!
One of my favorite movie scenes ever is at the end of the Year of Living Dangerously, where Mel Gibson (back when he was cute and not a psycho) was leaving the country as it collapsed into chaos around him. It was practically a riot, yet the person at the counter still stamped the passports slowly, calmly. Even when the world is ending, paperwork must be processed.
Suebob posted I have a food blog where sometimes I talk about other things too
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